


179 - Best Friend (by Rex Orange County)

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Reader-Insert, Songfic NonCatfish, Teenage Van
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 05:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17400812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “Best Friend // Rex Orange County and it’s just like the boy desperately wanting to be with his best friend and idk if u listen to the song it’s rly cute tysm” and “One where reader is a rich girl, and Van thinks she’s gonna be a stereotypical pompous twat, but she’s real humble and the lads an van are pleasantly surprised?”





	179 - Best Friend (by Rex Orange County)

When your parents dropped you with Mary and Bernie, you were nervous and excited in equal measures. Your siblings were nothing like you, and when the conversation was had about having to work for pocket money, they almost rioted. Your brother smashed both televisions in his room, and your sister said she'd stop helping with the horses. You happily thought about it and decided that when you grew up you'd like to maybe work in a hotel. The hotels in the village weren’t about to let a kid come work for them, but there was the bed and breakfast. A phone later you were on your way to work. Well, volunteer. Your parents would pay you, but technically you weren't employed.

The aim was to learn the value of money. Everything was easy for you growing up, born with a silver spoon. Getting out into the world and seeing how other people lived would do you good. Naturally kind and full of empathy, you wanted nothing more than to figure out how to use your privilege to help other people. Maybe your sixteen-year-old mind didn't think of it in those terms, but that's what you were doing. You'd never have guessed that your attempts to be a better person would be met with such resistance.

Mary and Bernie liked you immediately. You used your manners and took directions well. You followed them around making tea and ironing bed sheets. Their son, who you were sure was actually named Ryan but everyone seemed to call Van, did not like you immediately. He hardly spoke to you at all, and if you had to be in the same room, he'd put his cheap headphones in and ignore you.

One day you were in the laundry waiting for a cycle to finish when Van and his friend Benji went out onto the back porch. You could hear their conversation.

"Who's that girl that's always here?" Benji asked.

"Some rich kid. Dad says her parents want her to, like, learn about money and all that," Van replied.

"So she's workin' here? What she like?"

"I don't know. Don't wanna talk to her. This is my life, you know? Mum and Dad have grafted their whole lives and she thinks she can just walk in and learn all that by watching us like it's a fuckin' zoo. Don't like her." You could hear the distaste and contempt in Van's voice.

Like a zoo. Is that what Mary and Bernie thought too? That you were a spoilt little rich girl that was just doing what she was told so she could get her pocket money and buy meaningless shit to fill her oversized bedroom? You cried in the car ride home and told your parents you didn't want to go back. The more they pressed for an explanation, the more hysterical you got. Managing to cry out Van's name, you didn't realise how it would be interpreted. Your father turned the car around and sped back to the bed and breakfast.

Running after him as he went through to reception, Mary was sitting behind the counter. Even if you weren't crying, she would have been able to tell something was wrong by your father's body language.

"Y/N. What's happened?" she asked kindly.

"What's happened is your kid has done something to her,"

"No! No, he didn't," you cried out, pulling at your father, trying to get him back into the car. Your mother arrived in reception and held you back. Mary made a face of confusion.

"What did he do?" she asked you.

"Nothing!"

"He's done something. She's never been this upset," your mother corrected.

Mary went and got Bernie and Van. Unexpectedly, Van looked at you with sympathy.

"Ryan," Mary said. He looked at her, knowing it was serious then. "Y/N says you've done something,"

"No, I didn't!" you said, but it was still in crying.

"Y/N. You did. Can't take it back," your mother said.

"I haven't talked to her all day," Van said. "Been out the back with Benji,"

"I… I heard you," you whispered between hysterical intakes of breaths.

"Heard him what?" Bernie asked, his arms folded across his chest defensively. Your eyes met Van's and he knew what you meant. He tried to hold back a laugh.

"Wait. You're chuckin' a fit 'cause I said I don’t like you? What, never been not liked before, princess?" It was a shitty teenage boy thing to say, but it was kind of a valid point. Your reaction was in no way in proportion to the event.

"I don't think this is a zoo," you whispered but nobody heard. Van was made to recite what he said, and your parents explained why it was important that you were there. Your mother and father had both come from humble beginnings, and their fortunes were self-made. They didn't want to raise the person that Van thought you were. You watched Van listen, and the empathy you were born with, he was too. His face softened and when Bernie's arms unfolded, so did Van's. There was nothing left to say.

"We'll call you later, see how she feels about coming back," your mother said to Mary. Mary nodded but was visibly upset.

"I hope you do, Y/N. We like having you here. Nevermind this one," she said, knocking Van gently. His cheeks had gone red.

Following your parents back to the car, Van called after you as he came out of the house. Your parents nodded and got in.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I really didn't mean to make you upset,"

"You don't have to say sorry because your parents said so," you replied.

"Not. Didn't tell me to. I have to help clean for two weeks, and they're taking away my guitar for a week too. Said they didn't raise me to be such a cunt." You had never heard anyone use that word out loud and it hit you with a physical force. Van noticed. "Oh, sorry. Don't tell them I said that. That’s not what they proper said... Um. I am sorry. I just… Whatever. They just worked real hard to have this, and me, and I don't want anyone fuckin' it up,"

"I'm not going to. I just want to help,"

"Yeah. I know. Um. Anyway. Mum really likes you being here. You're the only one that can stand her weird conversations. I think it'd be good if you came back," he said with a shrug. He held a hand out. "Friends?"

…

The chip on his shoulder filled with embarrassment of being called out for being a dick, Van was a lot nicer after your meltdown. He'd bring you cups of tea, and would even help you fold the linen if he didn't have band practice.

"What kind of music do you play?" you asked one day, sitting out the back of the bed and breakfast eating cheese toasties that Bernie had made you both.

"Just rock. Not very good yet, but we will be. What kind of music do you like? Fancy classical stuff?" He wasn't being funny, but you laughed.

"What do you think I do? Just sit inside my mansion and play grand piano all day?" Van shrugged. Obviously it was exactly what he thought. "My two favourite bands are The Cure and Arctic Monkeys,"

"You're halfway there then! The Cure are a bit weird but," he replied.

"You would think that. You're so sheltered here. Don't like anything you don't know,"

"Maybe. Why's that matter though? Got everything I need," he said as he swallowed the rest of his toastie. You handed him the crusts of yours and he ate them too.

"Can I hear your band?"

"You wanna come to practice? Meet the lads?" he asked with a laugh.

"Yes. Why's that so funny?"

"Are you gonna dress like that?"

You looked down at yourself. Okay, maybe he had a point. You looked the antagonistic clique-leader of a Disney teen movie in the scene where she's gone to sulk and ride horses.

…

Changed into flared jeans, because it was the trend at the time, and a band shirt stolen from your dad, you were dropped off at an address Van scribbled onto paper. Your parents were apprehensive about letting you go but you argued that it was part of seeing the world, becoming better. Bernie called them and vouched for Benji's parents, who let the band practice in a shed out back.

After watching them thrash through a couple of covers and a few originals, you sat quietly on an old couch and listened to them talk about the dream of musical superstardom. There was no reason to believe that they wouldn't make it.

"My brother has a band and they have heaps better equipment-" you started to say when they asked your opinion.

"Thanks, Y/N," Van interrupted. You hit his arm.

"Don't. You know that's not what I mean. They've spent all this money on stuff and they still sound bad, but you could probably make any instrument sound good," you finished. They seemed pleased with your review, but your cheeks still flushed pink.

"Sorry," Van whispered when the conversation turned to something else. You looked at him. "I didn't… Sorry," he tried again. You nodded and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. You didn't know why you did it, but as you did little baby teenage love butterflies came to life in you and suddenly you realised why it had hurt so much when you thought he hated you. Van watched you move back to your spot, and all night you could feel his gaze follow you around. When your parents arrived to collect you, you were asleep on the couch. You weren't used to being up past midnight. Van poked at your face to wake you. Your eyes fluttered opened and settled on Van.

"Hi," you whispered. He grinned.

"Hey. Your ride's here,"

"Oh," you replied and closed your eyes again.

"I can try to carry you out if ya want, but can't promise I won't drop ya on your head," he said, poking you again. Slowly, you sat up and followed Van out the shed, saying goodbye to the guys on the way. He opened the car door for you and you climbed in. Van pressed his hand to the window when the door was closed, and you pressed yours to his on the opposite side of the glass. If your parents thought anything of it, they stayed quiet.

…

When the lesson had been learnt, and your parents didn't require you to work for Mary and Bernie anymore, you didn't stop hanging around. More and more time was spent with Van, but you still helped out with the washing and if you were there in the morning, you'd stand next to Van and crack eggs onto the grill for the guests. For two years you existed like that, living in a happy bubble between your family and his.

Catfish were doing better each month, booking more shows, writing better songs. They wouldn't let you pay for things, even though you could have. Van said it wasn't how he wanted to get big. He needed to work for it, or it wouldn't count. So, you accepted that and joined them in the back of Bernie's van as they trekked all around the country playing for any audience they could.

When they got signed it was the best day of your entire life. Van spun you around in his parent's living room. There was champagne and everything was finally perfect. You watched as they made the record as fast as they could, then started to plan a U.S. tour. By that time, you'd enrolled in Uni and had started seeing a guy you met at a record store. Nobody pointed out to you that Dylan kind of looked like Van, but nobody really spoke about him much at all. 

…

Getting to the party took a lot longer than you had planned. You'd fussed over what shade of lipstick to wear for twenty minutes, Dylan laying on your bed waiting patiently.

"Van's gonna be pissed if you're late," he told you. Dylan had tried his best to get along with Van, but for reasons unknown to you, Van didn't seem to like him much. "He keeps messaging you. Want me to reply? Tell him you're on your way?"

"No, he's fine. There's a million people at that party that love him and want to talk to him. It's a big deal. He's got company. He's probably not checking his phone," you called back from the ensuite.

"Well, obviously he is," Dylan mumbled.

It was easy to find Van when you walked into the bar. As predicted, there were people all around him. It was Catfish's going away party. Their first proper overseas tour. The bar was packed with friends, family, label reps, and a bunch of other important people that made you feel nervous. As you crossed the space to greet your best friend, he pulled his phone out. He read the blank screen for the hundredth time that night. He slid it back in his pocket, looked up and saw you. Van's face instantly burst to life in a smile. He excused himself from the group of people and quickly jogged to you and pulled you into a hug.

"Thank God. Thought you weren't coming,"

"Why wouldn't I come? This is huge for you!" you replied, kissing his check then wiping away a smudge of purple lipstick.

"Hey, Dylan," Van said and shook his hand. It was weird.

"Hey. I'll go get drinks. You want something, Van?"

"Nah, I'm good. Thanks, mate."

When Dylan left, you put your hands on Van's shoulders. "You don't seem as happy as you should be," you said, observing the little things nobody else could see. The slumped shoulders, the unfocused eyes, chewed nails, tapping foot. Van shrugged.

"Feels strange. People keep sayin' they love the band, which is class, but… I don't know. Some of them are sayin' they love me and it's just… Not used to it,"

"Come on. That's what you always wanted! To make girls swoon in the front row," you replied. He grinned.

"Yeah, but…"

"Doesn't really make you feel less alone?" you tried. Van looked up and nodded. He was the type of person to also need someone close, hated to be alone. Loneliness was a fear embedded deep in everything he did. "You'll be alright, Van. You're gonna travel the world and meet so many cool people. You won't be alone. Not ever,"

"Yeah… Yeah, I know. Maybe I should have just stayed home tonight. Got some sleep before leaving,"

"Van! This is a party for you! Stop being such a baby. Go on. Go say hi to those girls over there. They've dead made those shirts. They'll stalk you all night if you don't say hi. Go," you ordered, pushing him away from you. He stumbled, not wanting to leave. He looked over and waved to them. Their cheeks went red and they'd probably not sleep for days. Van turned back to you and nodded.

Dylan appeared as you watched Van walk away.

"He alright?"

"Yeah. It's just a lot. Got some separation anxiety maybe. But, he's so fucking great. He'll be fine. Anyway, come on, I wanna go say hi to Mary and Bernie."

…

Van escaped the room through a fire exit when nobody was watching, nobody but you. Leaving Dylan with Benji as they had an argument about which Star Wars film was the best, you followed Van out into the night. He turned a corner out of the alley, and you had to stalk him down a couple of streets before he finally stopped at a random bench and sat down. He seemed unsurprised when you sat next to him.

"Always manage to find me," he said quietly.

"Born with magnets in us, I think," you replied.

You sat without speaking. Van burned through two cigarettes.

"I thought we were gonna end up together," he said. You watched him under the harsh light of the streetlamp. "Other side of the track, opposite attracts kind of thing," 

"Yeah… So did I."

"Why didn’t we?" You considered it for a moment, but he spoke again before you could answer. "Nobody loves you like I do, Y/N. There isn't anyone in the world that thinks you're as beautiful as I do. And-"

"I know. I know, Van. And I love you too. Been your biggest fan forever. We've just… I don't know. Waited too long? Maybe we are just too different?"

Van stood up and looked down the street. He was upset and for the first time you could see that he was probably in love with you, that he spent as much time lying awake in bed thinking about you as you did thinking about him. That even though you had always just wanted to be each other's best friends, you'd both wanted more than that for a long, long time too. 

"I wanna start again. I want to go back to the start and never say those things about you and just straight up tell you I had a weird fuckin' sixteen-year-old crush. I want to tell you that I loved you from the very first day I saw you,"

"Van, stop. Come here. Calm down," you ordered, standing and pulling him close to you. "You don't. You don't want that. You're being super fuckin' dramatic right now. Having a moment because everything is gonna change now, and you're allowed to be a bit scared."

Van burrowed his head into the crook of your neck and held you tight. "What if I don't meet anyone else? How's anyone meant to be as good as you?" he whispered. Sighing, and smiling to yourself, you didn't even know where to begin. Of course he'd meet someone else. He'd meet a million people that he'd fall in love with and worship. It was the type of person he was. A true romantic with a low standard for what made a person special.

"Just gotta trust things will work out," you replied.

There were a million things you'd learned from growing up with Van and his family. What it meant to be working class, to struggle, those were the lessons instilled in you in the hours spent shining bed and breakfast cutlery and folding sheets with Mary. Trusting the free fall was what you'd learned most from Bernie. Maybe there didn't always have to be a plan, but if you worked hard and had a little faith, it would all be okay. From Van, you learned about the transcending power of music to turn an ordinary moment into a memory that was spectacular enough to be written about and sung over and over again. You learnt about persistence and loyalty and how to be unapologetically yourself. Both scrappy teenage Van and slightly less scrappy adult Van taught you how to be loved and how to be in love, and it was a lesson you'd forever be indebted to your best friend for.

On his last night home under a flickering street light and over the ashes of his burnt up cigarettes, you held Van for as long as he needed.


End file.
